


Sensitive, Not Ticklish

by aderpablechicadee



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Time, Hand Jobs, M/M, Tickling, Virgin Sherlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-02
Updated: 2013-01-10
Packaged: 2017-11-15 11:38:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/526896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aderpablechicadee/pseuds/aderpablechicadee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which John learns the difference between a "ticklish spot" and a "sensitive spot."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Discovery

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, so to hold all you folks over until the next installment of _Up to Speed_ is finished, I present to you this: the first Johnlock tickle fic I started writing. (As you may have gathered, I have a bit of a tickling kink...) It's a work in progress and I'm at a stand still right now, but hopefully you guys like it thus far!

“It's the most _adorable_ thing, really.”

“Really? I never would expect it from him...”

“....”

“Oh do lighten up, dear brother. It's nothing to be ashamed of.”

“ _Piss off...._ ”

“Aah, yes. I see. Now, John- _this_ is what I'm talking about. When he gets all crabby like this, now is the time to do it. You've just got to kind of move your hands right he-”

“AAAH!!! BLOODY FU- STOP IT!!!”

“Haha! See!? It's his bones that are the worst! Right here on his knees...”

“M-Mycroft!!!”

“....oh, and his rib cage is definitely a good spot...”

“ _Mycroft, s-stop thi-hi-his at o-once!!!_ ”

“Ah, but his most sensitive area is ri-”

“ _ **MYCROFT!!!! NO!!!**_ ”

Mycroft's hand hovered somewhere between Sherlock's belly and his thighs and he looked up at his younger brother with a sly smirk. Sherlock was slightly pink in the face and his breathing had quickened a bit. 

“No...”

“....fine. John, dear, if he ever gives you any trouble, remember those two spots.”

The man rose from his seat in the flat's living room and was making his way to the door when he suddenly stopped and turned, twisting the point of his umbrella into the carpet. 

“Oh, and if he's ever giving you a _lot_ of trouble, call me and I'll tell you the third. Ciao!”

The consulting detective leaned back into the leather sofa and let out a low sigh, easing up a bit now that his brother had left. But the doctor remained fixed in position in his red velvet arm chair. He had never imagined Sherlock to be ticklish. But, then again, the man had always been full of surprises. What's one more to add to the list?

His gaze traveled over the expanse of Sherlock's outstretched body and made him wonder where else he was ticklish. Mycroft had said that anywhere close to his bones was good so...his ankles, perhaps? His spine maybe? But where had that last place been? Where was that third spo-

“No.”

John looked up, startled. “Sorry?”

“I know what you're thinking and the answer is no.”

“But I didn't even ask anythi-”

“Yes, but you were thinking it, and the answer is still no.”

“Why not?”

Sherlock sighed in a most exasperated tone, in a way similar to that of a parent explaining to their child that an electrical outlet was _not_ a fork sharpener. “Because, it is childish and stupid and embarrassing and I don't like people touching me in the first place, much less in _this_ way.”

“Come on, Sherlock, don't be like that. Everybody's ticklish at least a little bit. It's what makes you human.....”

“John! _J-John!!! Kn-knock it off!!!_ ” Sherlock batted away John's hands that were now prodding at his ribs, digging in between each individual bone and causing him to choke on the laughs that he was trying so desperately to keep down in his chest. “John! I sa-ha-ha-haid kn-o-ho-hock it o-oh-off!!!!”

John grinned down at the panting man and moved his hands down to Sherlock's knees, holding himself up on them. “Why? You seem to be enjoying yourself.” He gave them a quick squeeze, causing Sherlock to gasp and suddenly clench his thighs together tightly. John didn't notice. 

“John....I swear...if you don't get your hands off of me....right now....”

“Oooo, threatening, are we? That's not very good, Sherlock. You remember what Mycroft said, don't you? If you were ever giving me a lot of trouble all I'd have to do is call...” He danced his fingers over the tops of Sherlock's knees and gently brushed them over the ends of his thighs as well. Sherlock cringed and squeezed his thighs tighter. John still didn't notice.

“John....please.....don't....”

“Why not? You _are_ being more difficult than usual, and that's saying something. And, I mean, clearly I....must've struck a......a chord with you.....because you don't normally......say....please....”

John noticed.


	2. Proposal

The two men paused for a few moments, neither saying a word. Then, John finally decided to break the silence. “Have you had your legs like that this who-”

“Don't.”

“You _have!!!_ Oh. Oh don't tell me. Is _that_ the third spot? Between your thighs? _That's_ where you're most ticklish?”

“No. John. John, I didn't say most ticklish. _He_ didn't say most ticklish. He said most _sensitive._ There's a difference. John. John. Please don't. John. John! _John!!! Stop it!!!! JooooOOOOOOHN!!!!_ ” 

John wasn't listening. He pried his fingers in between Sherlock's thighs and began wiggling them mercilessly against the skin. Sherlock was trying his hardest to squirm away from the attack, but he had pushed himself as far back into the couch as he could. He would've tried kicking back at John, but he didn't dare move his legs for fear of what could happen....

John felt like he was getting somewhere, what with all of the squirming Sherlock had been doing, but he was a bit surprised to find that Sherlock wasn't actually....laughing, like he thought he should. Instead, he had a look of worry, borderline, terror on his face and it wasn't until the outer-edge of John's right hand brushed up against Sherlock's crotch and Sherlock let out a stifled moan that he realized why he looked the way he did.

Both John and Sherlock froze and neither one was able to look each other in the eye for at least a minute. John kept staring at where his hand was now resting, tucked between Sherlock's warm inner thighs and snug up against his even warmer groin. Sherlock, cheeks now turning a pale rose color, closed his eyes and turned his head off to the side in what seemed to be something close to shame. Letting his bottom lip free from between his teeth, Sherlock mustered up enough courage to break the awkward silence. “Before you ask- no. I do not have a...tickling.... _fetish_...” He said the last word with a bit of disgust, as if to emphasize how preposterous even the idea of it was. “If I did, then you would have noticed signs of....pleasure in response to when you were tickling me in other areas aside from that one....” Sherlock paused for a few seconds, to see if John had anything to say yet. He didn't. So he continued. “And....as I said before, Mycroft said that the third area was my most 'sensitive,' not 'ticklish.' However, he failed to point out that the area itself is not sensitive....it's the area....near it that is.....and how, many times, when we were children and we would get into tickle fights and he would be tickling my knees, he'd accidentally touch 'that area' and....this would happen....”

John still said nothing and this made Sherlock feel even more uncomfortable than he had when John had first made contact with his arousal. Sherlock shifted in his seat and dared to open his eyes. “...I think it would be best if....we were to never speak of this again....if that's alright with you?”

John nodded, but didn't remove his hand and so Sherlock finally looked up and saw that John was thinking. Wanting. Wanting to say...something. But he didn't know what. “What?”

Now John was the one whose cheeks were flushing a bit and he looked away for a second before stammering out: “W-well...I mean....yeah, that's....I agree. We shouldn't- I won't.....never....We won't ever talk about this again. But......” his cheeks flushed an even darker red “...I feel bad about putting you in this....position so.....if you wanted to.....I could help get you....out.....”

Sherlock gawked at him for a second, but snapped out of the trance quickly when he realized his jaw had been gaping slightly. “John....are you suggesting that.....you…that you...um...”

"Give you a hand job?" John blurted out causing the scene to somehow become even more awkward. Sherlock blushed at John's bluntness and John coughed uneasily, turning his gaze away from the younger man and scratching the back of his neck as he continued. "Well...that is....I mean...not necessarily...just to, you know...fix...this...." he vaguely gestured at Sherlock's arousal, still not making eye contact. "Because I can't just leave you like this and...I assume...you probably don't want want to shame yourself in thinking about it, either...so leaving it up to you is out of the question....so...um.........better to just get it done and over with and out of the way so we won't have to think about it again....yeah?” John finally managed to get out after much stuttering.

Sherlock swallowed loudly, eyes darting between John's weak look of determination and where the palm of his right hand lay resting warm against his inner thigh.

_He should let him do it. Just let him get it over with. He did bring up some good points, and who was he to argue good points? Especially coming from John. John, who he trusted. John, who cared about him deeply. John, his friend._

Sherlock covered his eyes with one hand, trying to will away the embarrassment and shame that overwhelmed him from the position he was now in.

_It wouldn't be great. Definitely would make living in the flat for the next few days, if not weeks, a lot more awkward for them...but still, John was right. Sherlock wouldn't allow himself to properly take care of it and he knew that John wouldn't let him spend the rest of the day in such discomfort._

He moved his hand from his face to his hair and ran his fingers through thick, dark locks, letting out a soft sigh.

_He'd been through worse..._

He looked down at John, who had managed to remain still the whole time, the look of questioning confidence still holding strong on his flushed face, now dampened by a slight sheen of sweat.

_...right?_

“Ok.”


	3. Execution

John flinched at the sudden response as if he'd forgotten what they were discussing. “...yeah?”

“Yes. Just- make it quick...or...well, try....please...” Sherlock closed his eyes again and, fingers laced across his chest, let his legs spread open gently to allow John more room to maneuver.

John swallowed once before nodding and wiping the sweat from his forehead.

_This is for Sherlock. Do not think of it as anything else. This is for Sherlock. Think of it as a favor. No, even that sounds too suggestive... As an...apology? An apology for turning him on? Yes. He was now going to give his flatmate a handjob as an apology for turning him on. Good. Bloody great._

With one last shaky inhale, John began to slowly move his moist palm closer to Sherlock's thick arousal. The man beneath him shifted slightly as he pressed his fingertips to what felt like the younger man's scrotum, cupping the base of his cock in his palm. 

_God, how did he get here all of a sudden? On his hands and knees with his flatmate's hardening erection pressed up against his palm. Just what had happened to him?_

Hesitantly, he began to rub his hand up and down the length of Sherlock's cock through his trousers, squeezing gently now and again, to try to bring him as close to orgasm as he could before actually taking him into his hand.

Sherlock let out a soft, shuddering sigh at the now direct attention on his “most sensitive” spot. He dared himself a quick look at John and opened his eyes for a second to see that John, too, had his lips parted as he worked his near-burning palm against his younger flatmate's pressing erection, his shortened breathing quite noticeable. Sherlock let his head fall back down and his eyes closed once more.

_God, how did this happen? Here he was, Sherlock Holmes- a man who held no emotions, no desires that weren't controllable, and certainly no interest in such degrading, carnal acts- lying on his back, panting and sweating as his flatmate- no, his friend -rubbed him off through his trousers. What was wrong with him? God, he was truly pathetic..._

“I-I'm going to...t-take it out now...ok?” John glanced up at Sherlock, whose eyes and lips were still clamped shut, but who still gave a quick nod of permission before returning to his near inanimate state. 

Again, John nodded for no real reason other than assuring himself that he was actually about to move onto the next level of this awful plan they'd devised.

 _No,_ he'd _devised. Yup, this was all him right now. His own thoughts deciding that masturbating his best friend was a brilliant idea._

After a few failed attempts with his shaking hands, John finally managed to grasp the zipper of the younger man's dress pants, pulling it down slowly and undoing the button with equal hesitance. Thankfully, he hadn't completely lost contact with Sherlock, as the consulting detective generously lifted his hips as John tugged both the man's trousers and boxers down to his knees. He considered for a second brushing his fingers over the now bare skin of Sherlock's ticklish knees to try and lighten the heavy atmosphere, but was worried that it might break the little bit of a mood that they had and ultimately decided against it.

John's gaze trailed up from Sherlock's soft, pale knees to his lower thighs and all the way to his upper thighs where he saw a faint trace of dark curls before he had to squeeze his eyes shut in embarrassment. 

_There...somewhere there....among that black hair is Sherlock Holme's cock. Just stretching out, waiting to be touched... Waiting to be teased and fondled, to be rubbed and massaged... And it would be all of these things at the hands of John Watson. Doctor John Hamish Watson. And he would do it. He would do all of these things because Sherlock was his friend, his best friend, and he really would do anything for that man._

He opened his eyes and felt his mouth and throat go dry as he gazed upon the thick member presented before him. It was long and a bit slim- fitting for Sherlock's equally slim figure- a light pink color all along the hardened shaft, the enlarged head a bit darker than the rest with a small drop of pre-cum pooled at the very tip. John swallowed the air that had replaced the saliva in his mouth as- for a very, _very_ short second- he considered licking off the pearl of cum from Sherlock's pulsing erection, just to see what he would do. How he would react. What he would taste like...

He left it there for now, in case he decided to conduct this “mini-experiment” a bit further on. But right now, he had to focus on satisfying Sherlock's needs. Spitting as quietly as he could, John slid his slickened hand up Sherlock's leg, from his knee to his thigh and back down into the dampened patch of soft black curls to finally wrap his fingers around the base of Sherlock's cock, feeling the muscles twitch and the veins visibly pulse with blood. 

Sherlock twitched, too, and continued to let tiny tremors ripple through his fingers and toes and, eventually, through his lips as they parted gently to let out the smallest gasps and sharp intakes of breath. He felt his breathing hitch and he tried to control it by sending it through his nose, but found the task much more difficult than he'd hoped. As it turns out, the feeling of John's strong, calloused hand wrapped around his sensitive cock was too distracting for him to concentrate on much of anything aside from the pit of heat growing deep inside of his belly. Without thinking, his hips bucked up slightly and he brought his hands down in one swift movement to grasp at the leather couch cushions as John's strokes on his cock began to quicken and every so often his thumb would slide up over the tender head, pulling the foreskin back on his way back down to the base. 

“ _John...._ ” Sherlock breathed out, the slightest hint of a moan trailing off at the end.

John couldn't help but feel his own arousal begin to grow at the sight and sounds in front of him. His hips seemed to take on a mind of their own as he began to gently hump the air. He tightened his grip around Sherlock's cock, eliciting a choked gasp from the younger man as he threw his head back into the couch pillow.

_Fuck, he looked hot like this. Sweating, panting, moaning and gasping for breath beneath him. Those pale, slender hips writhing and bucking back and forth. Tiny whimpers slipping through those rose pink lips, the tip of his tongue gently peeking out, wetting them. Those light, silver-blue eyes glazed over in ecstasy. And his cock....his deliciously hard, glistening cock. Trembling in his fingers, pulsing and twitching and burning with immense heat. It took every ounce of John's self-control not to lean over and take his leaking head between his lips....to lick off the pool of cum dribbling out from the tiny slit, swirl his tongue around it, drag his teeth up the side teasingly-_

“ _O-oh John!_ ” Sherlock suddenly cried out, jerking his hips upward, thrusting his cock deep into John's fist. “ _Pleas- ooh! Please, b-be a bit more g-gentlemmmmmm......_ ”

Shit. John hadn't realized he had been having such a vice grip on Sherlock's erection. He also hadn't noticed when he'd begun grinding his own erection against Sherlock's thigh. He had to stop. He had to focus. This is for Sherlock. _Just_ for Sherlock.

“S-sorry…” he stuttered, loosening his grip on the younger man’s cock and resuming his strokes at a quicker pace. Sherlock fell back into the pit of ecstasy immediately. He bit down on his bottom lip to try to hold his needy whimpers in, but they still rang clear over the slick sounds of John’s hand pumping his arousal. 

“ _Mmmm! Sss- ‘s o-okay….haaa..._ ” the consulting detective managed to get out between clenched teeth. The rocking of his hips was starting to become more frantic and less rhythmic. He knew he was getting close. Releasing the couch cushion from one hand and snaking it up his torso, he pushed his shirt up to his chin, baring his pale chest and abdomen. Licking the thumb and forefingers of both hands, he began to pinch his newly revealed nipples, rubbing them and rolling them between his fingers and letting out little huffs with each tweak. 

John looked up from where his hand was currently occupied and felt a spear of heat shoot straight through his own arousal. _Christ! Now he’s touching_ himself _!?_ John shuddered out a moan and continued to grind his cock against Sherlock’s leg in time with his strokes. _How could he possibly be expected to witness this wanton display of self-pleasure without pleasuring himself, too?_

“ _OOOOH! OH JOHN YES!! OH YES PLEASE!!!_ ” Sherlock keened as he twisted his nipples hard, arching his back and craning his neck into one of John’s up-strokes. “ _So- aaaah- so close! Please….please, d-don’t stop!_ ” Shooting a hand down to wrap around John’s, Sherlock tightened their joint grip for about four more long strokes before he finally reached his climax. 

John brought his free hand up quickly to the head of his cock to prevent any come from staining the younger man’s clothing, catching just about all of it in his hand. He continued to gently coax out the streams of fluid from the detective’s cock even as the he lay heavily in an intoxicated bliss. Once he was positive that there was nothing left, he stood up and muttered something about going to wash up before rushing off to the bathroom. 

Once inside, he shut the door and held one hand on the tap of the sink. Pausing, he looked down at his other hand and saw the puddle of milky fluid pooled in his palm. _….no. No. Don’t do it John. That is wrong and sick and really really wrong. Don’t do it. John. Do. Not. Do it._

He glanced back at the door, then back at his palm, and then back to the door. With his non-soiled hand, he turned the lock on the door and hastily undid his trousers. “Fuck, I can’t believe I’m doing this…” he grunted as he pushed down his pants and wrapped his sticky hand around his cock, exhaling a sigh as he slid his hand up with ease. Moving his palm up and over the head, he smeared Sherlock’s come with his own and shuddered at the filthiness of it. _This is so utterly and completely wrong. This shouldn’t be sexy. It isn’t sexy. The thought of having Sherlock’s come covering my cock is not sexy. The thought of Sherlock coming all over my cock is not sexy. Of us jerking our cocks together. Of us coming together in each other’s hands. Of his mouth around my cock, sucking deep and hard at the base, the tip of my head grazing the back of his throat. His teeth dragging lightly up my shaft as he pulls back…_

“ _Shit! Oooooooh fuck….._ ” John cursed himself silently as he neared the edge of his orgasm. His hand quickened and he leaned back against the wall as his arousal pulsed several times before finally letting go in short spurts of white fluid. His shoulders slumped and he sank to the floor as his erection softened and his now doubly-soiled hand lay resting palm-up on his leg.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...and here is where I am stuck. (._. ) I've come back to this time and time again and have yet to figure out where to go from here. Sooooooooo...hopefully, while you guys read this, I can finish the second part of _Up to Speed_ and by _then_ I'll have the next chapter of this one up! And- you know- if anyone has any suggestions for this in terms of "what-to-do-next" please- tell me. I am all ears.
> 
>  _Update_ : So I just added a little bit to the end to sort of wrap up this chapter. I received some really good suggestions from you all so hopefully these next few will be interesting and exciting to say the least. Hope you enjoy it!


	4. Aftermath

Sherlock was the first one awake in the flat the following morning. 

This was mainly due to the fact that he never ended up falling asleep the night before.

His mind was racing at a mile a minute even as he recuperated from, quite possibly, the most powerful orgasm he'd ever experienced. He lay there on the couch, his body long since retired from moving while his mind began to sort through all of that evening's events. John had fled the scene relatively quickly so that left him plenty of time to go to his Mind Palace without the risk of being interrupted. 

To start, there were many things of which Sherlock was now aware of: _John knows that he is ticklish, John knows where he is ticklish, John is_ damn _good at tickling, John also knows that Sherlock is, in fact, a sexual creature and John is also damn good at bringing out that sexual side of him. However, as shocking as all of these revelations seemed to be, building and building one after another, the one that really took the proverbial cake was what got them into this mess in the first place: Sherlock _did_ in fact have a tickling fetish and oh how he had forgotten what it had felt like to be tickled like that..._

\----

He had first become aware of it when he was just starting puberty. The day had been like any other in the Holmes residence. Mycroft was busy with his studies from university and Sherlock, just having recently entered secondary school, voted against focusing on his studies and instead amused himself by pestering his older brother- a common pastime for him.

"What'cha doing?" the twelve-year-old Holmes brother inquired as he climbed up onto his older brother's bed and flopped down next to him.

Mycroft did not take his eyes off of his _Introduction to Foreign Policies_ text book for a second, pen in hand as he scribbled down notes on a pad to his side. 

"Work." He answered simply.

Sherlock let out a dramatic sigh, "For how long?"

Mycroft turned the page in his book and continued reading. "What time is it right now?"

The younger Holmes turned to check the grandfather clock standing in the corner of the room. "Quarter past eight."

Mycroft finally looked up from his book, setting down his pen and taking a few moments to stare up at the ceiling, as if figuring out some complex math problem in his head. "Hmm...probably until long after your bedtime." He replied, turning back to his book and lifting his pen again. 

The groan Sherlock released was nearly comical as he lifted himself from his spot beside his brother and moved to lazily fall across Mycroft's lap, blocking his view of the text and disabling him from writing his notes. 

"Work is boooooooooring! Why can't we play like we used to?" Sherlock's whine seemed a bit childish for his age, but then again there was always that bit of child in him that never seemed to go away, especially when he didn't get his way. 

Mycroft was mostly used to this kind of behavior coming from his little brother so he limited his response to, "Well, perhaps if _certain_ little brothers could keep themselves amused while their _big_ brothers finished up their work then _maybe_ they'd have some time left to play." Mycroft attempted to finish jotting down the note he had been in the middle of recording when Sherlock had suddenly decided to park it on him, but found the action to be much more difficult when the end of his pen brushed the curve of Sherlock's underarm, causing him to squeal out a high-pitched shriek and pull his arm against his side with lightning speed. 

Chuckling deeply, the older Holmes continued, changing his tactic. "Of course, there's always the alternative of certain big brothers chasing their little brothers away from them so that they may continue their work in PEACE!" Mycroft emphasized the last word by suddenly curling both hands around Sherlock's rib cage and tickling the younger boy mercilessly. 

Letting out high-pitched squeals and giggles, Sherlock tried to squirm out of his brother's grasp with no success. Text book and notes forgotten, Mycroft flipped his little brother onto his back, sat down on his hips and- noticing Sherlock's uniform shirt had come untucked from his trousers- slipped his fingers beneath the cloth and began spidering them up and down his sides, across his belly, over his ribs and into his underarms. Sherlock thrashed about senselessly on the bed, trying to push his older brother off of him with just about as much success as a twelve-year-old can have against his eighteen-year-old brother.

"Not so bored now, are we Sherly?" Mycroft teased his little brother, pushing his shirt up and bending down to blow a raspberry across his quivering stomach. 

Sherlock practically screamed with laughter, begging Mycroft to stop, that he promised he'd leave him alone for the rest of the night, for the rest of the week if he would just stop tickling for a second. Tears began to form at the corners of his eyes and his breathing had turned to panting. His skin was flushed and he was starting to feel strangely...warm and..."tingly" all over....especially down....

"Oh dear." 

The tickling had suddenly stopped. 

Mycroft still had Sherlock pinned down under him on the bed, but his hands now lay motionless on either side of Sherlock's head. And instead of having his mischievous, playful grin aimed at his face, Mycroft now had a smug smirk plastered across his lips that was aimed at the source of the warm, "tingly" sensation...

"Looks like my baby brother has a tickling fetish." Mycroft pointed out, his tone thick with amusement.

Sherlock screwed up his face in disgust and, what he hoped Mycroft wouldn't notice, confusion. "What? What are you talking about?"

Mycroft's smirk just became wider as he explained, "You get aroused by being tickled. All of the tell-tale signs are there: flushed skin, dilated pupils, increased pulse and breathing, and um..." Mycroft hinted towards the spot on top of which he sat on Sherlock. "...the more _obvious_ sign."

Sherlock didn't know what to make of all of this new found information. Yes, he'd been tickled before, but it'd never had this kind of effect on him. Or if it had, he certainly had no recollection of it. 

One thing he _did_ know was that he definitely liked the effect it had on him. And he really wouldn't mind feeling it a bit more...

"Keep tickling me." the younger Holmes stated plainly.

"What." Mycroft stared down blankly at his younger brother, clearly not fully comprehending what had just been asked of him.

Sherlock sighed in his, 'are you really this daft' sigh and, lifting his arms above his head for good measure, repeated himself: "Keep tickling me! It feels good and I like it and I want you to keep doing it so keep doing it."

"Ahh- no." Mycroft replied quickly and began climbing off his little brother, grasping for his text book and pen. 

Sherlock sat up and pouted at the older Holmes. "Why not?"

Now it was Mycroft's turn to sigh in an equally exasperated tone, "Because that is not something one brother- or really _any_ family member- should be doing to another family member if it has that effect on them." He picked up on where he'd left off on his note-taking and resumed reading through his text book as if the last five minutes had not just happened.

Sherlock was still not pleased with his brother's answer, however. "How come? It feels good and you seemed to be enjoying it well enough yourself. I don't see what the issue is."

The elder Holmes set down his book and pen one final time and turned to give Sherlock his full attention. "Look, Sherlock. This- what you just experienced- was sexual arousal. You're at the point in your development where you're going to start feeling that way more and more often. Perhaps you'll find a cute girl," Sherlock had a sour look of disgust grace his face. "I know it sounds weird right now, but hear me out- or maybe you'll find a handsome young boy," the look of disgust was replaced with a slightly annoyed, slightly embarrassed flush that made Mycroft smirk. "Either way, you might find someone who you find to be attractive. Someone who makes you feel the way you felt just now just by looking at them or thinking about them. It's someone like that- not a relative- who you should want to have tickle you. Not me, not mummy or father, not any of your professors either, I should mention. Someone who you create a special bond with, someone who you can trust, who you know would never hurt you, who will love you unconditionally, and who you can reciprocate those feelings with. Understand?"

Sherlock mulled this over for a bit before nodding slightly. 

Mycroft smiled softly, patting the younger Holmes on the shoulder, "Good. Now why don't you go get ready for bed?"

Sherlock nodded again and climbed off the bed, still lost in thought as he stopped at the door to Mycroft's room and turned to look back at his brother once more, insecurity evident on his face. "Mycroft?"

"Yeah?"

"...does having this...this....fetish make me...a freak?"

Mycroft looked up from his book with a reassuring smile, "No, Sherly; it doesn't make you a freak. You've just got to find someone who will appreciate you for all that you are."

\----

During the years that followed, Sherlock tried to forget about the entire incident as well as the tickling fetish itself. Despite his brother's reassuring words, that he wasn't a freak for being turned on from being tickled, he still had this constant feeling in his brain that wouldn't go away. This persistent shame that consumed him every time he thought about what it'd be like to have someone tickle him again. To have someone hold him down, pin his wrists above his head and, with their free hand, tickle his sides and poke his ribs and tease his underarms and pinch his belly. To have someone sit down on his legs, ankles locked between their thighs and have the soles of his feet tickled beyond despair, his arches and toes defenseless to an onslaught of quick and curious fingers. 

Even now the thoughts alone were starting to have a noticeable effect on him. The more he fantasized about it, the more he could feel his skin heat up, could feel his heart begin to beat a bit faster, his cock twitching with interest. 

But the internal shame pulled him back. Mycroft teased him during his later years of secondary school. Any boyfriend Sherlock managed to land ended up getting the "tickle card" played on them sooner or later by his dear older brother. It'd always be the same: Sherlock would be dating a guy for maybe a month or so, would finally talk him into coming over his house to "study" and there Mycroft would be, ready to give the big brother talk as always. Only instead of it being the "you break his heart I'll break your nose" talk, it was the "did you know that Sherlock is ticklish?" talk. And every time- every _bloody_ time, they'd take the bait. 

_"Oh? You didn't tell me you were ticklish..."_ they would say. 

_"He hasn't? Oh well you're certainly in for a treat, then. Here, let me show you a few spots..."_

And then the boyfriend-of-the-month would tickle him. And tickle him. And tickle him some more. 

And there Sherlock would be. Laughing and gasping for breath, curling in on himself as he tried to hide the shameful effect the tickling was having on him until- 

_"Oh- oh my. You ah....you didn't mention that he...ah...that he uhm, _likes_ being tickled...."_ they would say. 

And then, overtime, the boyfriend-of-the-month just kind of disappeared. 

_Sorry, moving to a new school. Long distance relationships can be tough, you know..._

_My ex wants to get back together with me again...._

_I don't think it's going to work out..._

_We should stop seeing each other..._

It always ended the same way: with an end. 

And now here he was again. Twenty years later. New face, new guy- not technically a boyfriend, but- after Mycroft's latest intrusion on their life- clearly someone who Mycroft would _like_ to be his baby brother's boyfriend. And, as Sherlock was quickly coming to find, someone _he'd_ like to be his boyfriend, as well. 

"Aaaaugh...stupid Mycroft..." Sherlock muttered to himself, arm draped over his eyes. 

But if Mycroft kept up this little game of his, chances are he'd probably lose John just like he lost the others... 

... _although._

John _had_ clearly been aroused when he'd seen what the tickling had done to Sherlock. The way his eyes traveled frantically over Sherlock's sweating and trembling body. 

Of course, perhaps he was only aroused by the sight of Sherlock debauched, not including the "incredibly-aroused-while-being-tickled" Sherlock that he'd been moments before. 

Letting the arm slide off of his eyes, he gazed up at the ceiling. 

_Well, there's only one way to find out._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys. Long time, no see. ^^; First off, I'd like to apologize for my extensive absence in the past few months. Things have been a bit iffy around the house lately and between work, getting set up for spring semester classes and some other hullaballoo I haven't really had time to sit down and work on this like I've been wanting to.  
> So! With that being said, I give you Chapter Four of this little bodice ripper of mine. XD Hopefully you'll all enjoy the little surprising twist I've taken on the plot. This is kind of turning into a bit more serious of a fic than I had originally planned. Or, well. As serious as a fic like this can get. Bah, I'll explain it better in the next chapter. Until then, happy reading and I'm glad to be back. ^_^


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